Fractured (7 page)

Dr Murray spoke softly. ‘Anna will be all right, Mr Patton, try not to worry. And I really am sorry about your son.’

The doctor and nurse stood up. Both of them shook Tony’s hand, then walked out. He pushed himself up from the couch to follow
them. He left the room and closed the door behind him, but they had already disappeared.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

Anna lay still; her shoulder ached when she moved. She opened her eyes, just a little, just enough to tell her that she was
in the same bare room. She kept her head steady but moved her eyes to the right and saw that the uneven pavers in the courtyard
outside the window were illuminated by sunlight, although the high brick wall threw down a wedge of shadow. It must be the
middle of the day. Was it the same day? She’d pretended to be asleep when they had wheeled her in here earlier. Someone had
tried to give her some food, but she couldn’t risk eating anything; she didn’t know if she was safe. Could they be drugging
her? Tony had been there, he’d held her hand, but that seemed a long time ago. Where was he now?

That policeman was still at the door, pretending to read the newspaper. He must know – must be a part of it. She heard a snap
and jumped; the policeman had shaken the paper to straighten it, and was now folding it up on his lap. Footsteps were approaching,
getting louder: someone was coming. She closed her eyes again and tried to breathe slowly. She silently pleaded with her limbs
to stop shaking.

It was impossible to lie completely still when the voices were almost constant now, taunting her, jeering. Anna wanted to
cry, but she had to be strong; it was the only way. There was another voice too, a woman’s, closer, clearer than the others.
She opened her eyes, and through the slits of her eyelids saw in the doorway a small woman not much older than herself. She
had long brown
hair loosely tied in a knot at the nape of her neck and wore glasses with dark frames. She looked down at the seated policeman,
and then her heels began to clip across the vinyl. As the woman put her large tan handbag down on the floor near the wall,
Anna saw the yellow fluorescent light glinting in her red nail polish. Her heart raced. She quickly closed her eyes again,
wishing everyone would just leave her alone.

‘Good morning, Anna. Do you remember meeting me?’

She didn’t move. This woman was lying: they’d never met before. What was she trying to do?

‘I’m Dr Morgan, the psychiatrist looking after you.’

A psychiatrist? She started to breathe more quickly, anxiety flooding through her. Why had they sent a psychiatrist? Hadn’t
they done enough? What were they planning?

‘I’m a medical doctor who specialises in looking after people who have had problems with their mood or feelings. Does that
make sense?’

Her chin twitched involuntarily and she held her breath. Had the psychiatrist seen her move? Did this Dr Morgan know she was
pretending to be asleep? She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut to stop the tears that were pooling behind them from spilling
out.

‘Anna, do you understand?’

She felt the warm tickle of a tear run down her cheek, follow her jaw back towards her ear, then drip onto her collarbone.
She couldn’t pretend any more; maybe it was safer to cooperate, maybe then they’d stay away from Tony and Jack. She heard
the hollow sound of something dropping onto the bedside table next to her, and opened her eyes slowly, blinking as they adjusted
to the light. Dr Morgan slid a box of tissues towards her. She didn’t reach for one.

Dr Morgan looked over at the policeman by the door and asked him to wait outside. When he had skulked away she went over and
closed the door behind him. Anna’s heart pounded; this doctor must be in charge. While she was glad that the policeman had
gone, it meant that they were alone now, without any witnesses.
She blinked to clear the tears from her vision; she needed to see what was coming.

Dr Morgan pulled the policeman’s chair to the side of her bed, sat down and then nestled back as if it were a comfortable
armchair. Anna forced herself to ignore the mumbles behind her and focus.

‘Anna, do you know why you’re here?’ the doctor asked.

Anna shook her head, certain that if she opened her mouth she’d scream.

Dr Morgan’s voice became soothing, soft. ‘Do you know where you are at the moment?’

If she spoke, things would just get worse.

‘You’re in hospital, in the psychiatric ward.’

Anna felt faint as panic rushed through her. She wanted to explain, to tell Dr Morgan that she had tried to make it right.
She didn’t know what had happened, she had tried to do what they said, but obviously something had gone wrong.

Dr Morgan continued, ‘Do you know what day it is?’

The murmuring in the room behind her kept going, on and on, louder and louder, laughing and mocking. What did it matter what
day it was? Anna needed the noise to stop, but Dr Morgan went on, just adding to the babble and confusion.

‘What about the time of day? Is it morning, afternoon, evening? Who is the prime minister?’

Anna’s body began to rock, and she couldn’t stop it. Her hands were tingling. Were Tony and Jack OK? They didn’t deserve this:
it was all her fault. She wasn’t good enough for them, it was true, they were better off without her in their lives. Anna’s
eyes filled with tears again and she turned her head away.

Dr Morgan urged her back. ‘Anna, it’s all right, there’s plenty of time. You’ve been very unwell. I’m going to see you every
day and we’ll see how we go. If you need to talk in between times, let the nurses know and they can page me. Even if I’m not
here, they can call me and I’ll talk to you by phone.’

Anna blinked hard. She wanted to believe that she could trust Dr Morgan, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have any choice but
to
play along, though, so she nodded slightly, flinching from the pain in her shoulder. There was nothing she could do.

Dr Morgan picked up her bag and left the room. Anna breathed out in relief and started to tremble. She thought about trying
to stand up, to run, but then the policeman came back and took up his post by the door. She whimpered and curled up on her
side.

She tried to count slowly in her head, and concentrated on tensing and relaxing each muscle as she had learned to do in yoga
when she was pregnant. It used to work. She had loved those Saturday morning classes, feeling her baby prod and wriggle in
her belly as she relaxed. Now, that seemed like someone else’s life; maybe it was.

Breathe in for two counts, out for four.

Her eyes stung. She begged sleep to take her away from this. What had happened to Tony? Where was Jack? Had they got to them
after all?

Things were getting foggy, blurry in front of her eyes, but something sharp and persistent darted around at the edges. As
the fog thickened, Anna listened to the noises around her: alarms beeping, the policeman sighing, the birds outside screeching.
They blended into a horrible lullaby. No one could possibly hear her scream over that cacophony. No one was coming to rescue
her. She was alone.

Tuesday, 15 September 2009

Wendy hesitated at the top of the stairs, oblivious to the crowd tutting and muttering as they squeezed around her to reach
the escalator down to the baggage collection area. The flight had been long. She had sat next to two burly blokes heading
home to Sydney after a month on the mines. Small talk was difficult for her at the best of times, but this had been torture.
They had asked why she was going to Sydney; she had told them that she was visiting her daughter. She was desperate to blurt
out the truth in the hope that telling someone else would make it hurt less. And it did hurt, physically, in the depth of
her chest, her head, her back. But she hadn’t said anything; she had put her headphones on as soon as they took off, and stared
intently at the seatback television as the tiny plane on the screen made its way inch by inch across the Nullarbor to the
east coast.

She walked forward onto the escalator. A young woman behind her stumbled and swore, but it barely registered. At the bottom,
Wendy scanned the throng but couldn’t see Tony, so she stood still, unsure of what to do. She should have known this would
happen; she should have made a plan, just in case. She wanted a cigarette. Her eyes filled with tears. Where was he?

Then she heard someone shout her name; her shoulders dropped in relief as Jim strode towards her, with Ursula following. Wendy’s
lip started to quiver, and she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve as they approached.

‘Hi,’ was all she managed to utter before her face crumpled. She opened her arms and clutched Ursula. ‘I promised myself I
wouldn’t cry … I’m so, so sorry.’ She reached into her bag for some tissues, but could only find used ones, dried and clumped
together. Ursula handed her a clean one.

Wendy took it with a nod. Ursula was crying too, though she made no noise. Wendy blew her nose. ‘Is there any more news?’

Ursula looked down. ‘No. Not since this morning.’

Jim cleared his throat and put his arm around her, steering her towards the baggage carousel. ‘Come on, let’s go get your
bags. How was the flight?’

‘Long, horrible, the usual. We sat on the tarmac for about an hour before taking off.’ She managed to smile at Jim, grateful
to him for asking a question that she knew how to answer. She liked him; Anna often said how lovely he was to her. That meant
a lot to Wendy, who had always worried that not knowing her father might have damaged Anna in some way. There was no evidence
of this, of course; Anna had done so well in her life and seemed to know exactly what she wanted. At the thought of her daughter,
lying alone in hospital, her eyes filled again with tears.

‘You must be exhausted,’ Ursula said. ‘Travelling such a long way, on top of … this.’

Wendy shook her head. ‘I’m sure we all are.’

They had arrived at the carousel; the shrill alarm sounded as the conveyer belt began to move. Falling silent, all three of
them stared at the luggage snaking past them. At last, she saw her suitcases and pointed them out. Jim took one in each hand.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He started to walk towards the exit while she and Ursula walked side-by-side
behind him.

Wendy bit her lip. ‘My sister Pam’s calling a friend who lives in Sydney, to see if I can stay with her. I’m sorry, I just
haven’t had time …’

Looking relieved to have something practical to discuss, Ursula spoke firmly. ‘Don’t worry, we’re sorting it out. Lisa’s spoken
to
Emily; she’s going to stay at her boyfriend’s for a while and you can stay in her apartment. She’s cleaning it up at the moment,
so you’ll come back to ours for now and we’ll take you over later. We thought you’d like your own space rather than cramming
in with us.’

Wendy nodded, grateful. She had known Emily since she and Anna were small, and she’d be much more comfortable there than with
Ursula and Jim. Ursula had always intimidated her. She seemed so capable and Wendy worried that Anna compared the two of them
and was disappointed in her own lot. Even today, when she must have been up all night, Ursula had managed to style her short
dark hair and put on the burgundy lipstick she always wore. She wasn’t a thin woman, but she carried her weight well, unlike
Wendy, who could never seem to hide the kilos that had crept on over the years. She was suddenly aware of how she must look
after the flight: she should have put on some make-up, brushed her hair instead of scraping it back with her fingers into
a ponytail. She had been meaning to book into the hairdresser to get her roots done for ages. Then she remembered the picture
of Jack hanging on her wall at home. It didn’t matter what she looked like.

‘Great, thanks. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to put anyone out —’

‘It’s no problem. It’s the least of our worries. I just didn’t want to ask Tony – he probably needs his space. He might not
even want to stay there now. I don’t know, it’s all so …’ Ursula turned away. Jim had stopped up ahead at the parking ticket
machine. ‘Jim! Don’t use your credit card, I’ve got change.’ She turned back to Wendy and frowned. ‘He never uses coins, just
leaves them in drawers or in his car. Then he complains when he needs them.’ She sped up, already taking her purse out of
her handbag.

Wendy opened her own bag. ‘I’ve got money, here … You don’t need to pay after driving out here to get me.’ But it was too
late. Ursula was feeding coins into the machine.

She watched them squabble. It felt like she was intruding on something intimate, so she hung back until Ursula beckoned to
her to follow them to the car.

* * *

Tony opened his front door, stepping quickly inside, then closed it behind him. He hoped none of the neighbours had seen him.
They would have seen the police car this morning, discussed it over breakfast, then gossiped outside the school gates when
they dropped off their kids. He had no doubt that they would have heard about Jack, but he wasn’t ready to face them. He peered
out of the frosted glass panel in the front door, but the street was empty. After locking the door he turned around. He wasn’t
sure what he expected to see – black whorls of fingerprint dust or yellow crime scene tape, maybe – but, cruelly, everything
looked the same as it had yesterday, as it did every day. As it had when Jack was here.

He saw a piece of notepaper on the hall table and recognised his mum’s handwriting:
Fed Jessie. Police been and gone, they want to talk to you. Call me. I love you, Mum
.

He left the note where it was and looked down the hallway. The door to Jack’s room was closed. He took a deep breath and hurried
past it into the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and kicked them into the corner then had a quick shower. In the bedroom
he put on some clean underwear; opening the wardrobe, he tried not to look at Anna’s clothes hanging politely next to his.
He closed it again and put on some shorts and a polo shirt from his drawer. For a moment he looked at the bed, still made,
and Anna’s cold cup of tea. He longed to crawl in and hide under the blankets. The last time he had slept in it, two nights
ago, Anna had been with him. He needed her; he wasn’t good on his own, he was only good with her. He knew he needed to leave
this room; there were too many intimate memories. After closing the bedroom door carefully behind him, he went into the living
area.

The kitchen bench was tidy, with no signs of the pizzas his dad had brought over the night before. His mum would have tidied
up when she let the police in. In a way, he wished she hadn’t. Anna had struggled to keep on top of the housework since Jack
had been born, but he hadn’t cared. He’d liked to see the toys littering the
floor and the nappy bags piled outside the front door. Clean, it was as if she’d wiped away some of the spirit of Jack. And
Anna. He opened the patio doors and Jessie came running in, wagging her tail. He crouched down and scratched her ears, then
took his bag and laptop over to the coffee table and sat on the couch. His secretary, Donna, had left a message on his phone
and he had some emails that he needed to sort out. Jessie jumped up next to him; for once, he let her stay. He felt better
when he opened his computer and it started up. Work was comfortingly familiar, and Tony wanted to grab onto something in his
life that was still the same, where he knew his purpose and his role.

The screen flickered in front of his eyes, then settled. The desktop background was a picture of the three of them, the same
one that Anna had printed out and kept by their bed, taken just before they walked out of the hospital to bring Jack home
for the first time, six weeks ago.

He had woken early that morning. He’d slept at the hospital for the first four nights, lifting Jack up when he woke and handing
him to Anna to feed in bed, changing his tiny nappy so that Anna could rest. But on that last night, Anna had insisted that
he stay at home and get a good night’s sleep. He had slept well, but woke at 5 a.m., excited that his son was coming home.
He tidied the house, put some washing on, and changed the sheets on the bed. He had dressed, then walked Jessie to the shops
and bought some flowers and blue balloons. Back home, he rechecked the baby capsule in the car; it looked so big for such
a little baby. When he was sure it was secure, he’d driven to the hospital where Anna was dressed and ready for him. They
had loaded up a trolley with all the flowers and gifts, then asked the nurse to take this photo of their family.

How could it all go so wrong so quickly? What had happened? Tony rubbed his clammy face and blinked hard. He pushed the thoughts
away and forced himself to breathe slowly. He would sort out work first, then he could move onto the more difficult things.
He opened up his email program and scanned through the messages. He hadn’t yet told work what had happened. Donna had
assumed he was still unwell and had cancelled his meetings for the day. She wanted to know if he’d be back soon. Tony didn’t
know what he was going to do tomorrow. Or next week or next month.

Seconds passed, maybe minutes. The laptop went into sleep mode and the screen went dark; he shook his head quickly to banish
his thoughts and sent a brief reply to Donna saying he’d be away for at least a week. That was the best he could do for now.

His phone, on silent, vibrated in his pocket. Without looking at the screen, he rejected the call and turned it off. He couldn’t
talk to anyone yet. He reached across and picked up his bag from the coffee table; balancing it horizontally on his knee,
he opened it to find some paperwork. As he did so, several documents slid out and fell onto the floor.

‘Shit,’ he said, and bent down to pick them up: an A4 notebook, a printout of his presentation, and some unopened mail. He
shuffled them back into a pile, then stopped. On the top of the pile was an envelope with his name handwritten on it. He had
never seen it before but he recognised Anna’s handwriting.

His hands started to shake as he turned the envelope over, lifted the unsealed flap, then pulled out a single folded sheet
of plain white A4 paper. He didn’t want to read it. He knew that he’d be better off ripping it up and pretending he hadn’t
seen it. But before he could stop himself, he was unfolding the paper and scanning the messy handwriting. The tremor in his
hands increased; he had to put them down on his lap to stop the letter flapping about in front of his eyes. He smoothed it
out, leaving patches of sweat from his fingers on the paper. He read it, then read it again, disbelieving. Was this a joke?
Some cruel trick intended to torture him some more? He began to hyperventilate and tears filled his eyes, dropping onto the
letter, soaking into the paper. The ink spread and the words blurred. He threw the letter down next to him. He lifted the
front of his shirt and covered his face with it as he sobbed.

Suddenly, Jessie raised her head and her ears pricked up. He jumped, expecting someone to walk through the door at any second.
He sniffed and wiped his face, then quickly refolded the letter, stuffed it back in the envelope and shoved it back into his
bag.

No one walked in, but he left the letter where it was. He didn’t want to look at it again. He closed his eyes and let his
heart rate settle, but the words taunted him. What did it mean? He kept his eyes shut, wishing he hadn’t just seen what he
had. But it was too late; he would never forget.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Tony stopped his car just around the corner from his parents’ house with the engine idling. He didn’t
want to be here; he wanted to stay at home, lock the doors and turn out the lights, but he had responsibilities. A car slowed,
then drove around him. Tony watched the driver, an ordinary man going home after an ordinary day at work, probably to his
wife and kids. Lucky bastard.

He put the car into drive and turned left into his parents’ cul-de-sac. The nature strip was littered with purple petals from
a big jacaranda tree. The sound of a television blared out of the open window of the Soutars’ house next door. He drove up
onto the verge and parked the car on an angle, then got out before he could change his mind and reverse back onto the road.
He wasn’t even halfway up the path to his parents’ front door when it opened.

‘Anthony, love, we were worried,’ Ursula said, holding the door wide open.

‘Sorry, I had some work to do.’

‘Work?’ Ursula frowned, then held her arms out as he stepped into the house. He didn’t hug her; she dropped her arms by her
side. ‘Anyway, how are you?’

Tony shrugged, and took off his shoes, leaving them side-by-side on the shoe rack in the hallway. ‘I’m all right. Did you
pick up Wendy earlier?’

‘She’s here now. We’ll take her to Emily’s place later. Come in, come in, can I get you something?’

He closed the door behind him. ‘A beer. Thanks.’ He walked into the living room while his mum went into the kitchen. Jim and
Wendy were sitting on the cream leather couch. They both stood up. Wendy hurried towards him.